“Church of My Father”
Colours bleed in
Painting the walls and souls
Of those who wait
In hope of redemption.
Humility sits with Patience
Steadfast, beneath windows
By hands of man
For the glory of God.
Colour weeps softly on weary shoulders
And burdened souls,
Compressing the pain
Of implied imperfection
Between stone walls and
Ambiguous lines of ancient texts.
Life pulsing reds
And the dignity of purple proudly
Adorn in folds the human suffering,
Anguish of the ages
Etched into glass faces,
That await absolution with certainty, in the
Vibrant shades of faith.
The greens flow with time,
And the blues sigh and whisper,
Muffled stories that
In reverent moments.
Hands wrung in hope,
Clasp for strength, pray for understanding,
Tithe the price, await the law…
Gold towers in judgment
And looks down amidst the brown hues
Of a rod for a back
Or a place to kneel.
Cream and orange chastise
Where pink caresses with love and
The lure of forgiveness.
The fear of a Father’s wrath.
Pomp and circumstance
Rites and rituals,
The longing for understanding…
The burden of humanity…
The artist paints the journey of the soul
The martyr and the victim,
Bound by walls of stone
And hardwood frames,
Steepled ever upwards in search of the divine,
Like manmade hands in eternal prayer,
Fingers pointing away from the truth.
“Church of My Mother”
Colours drift in
From all sides
And paint the space and souls of those
Who seek their own redemption.
Gaia dances with Time,
Artists enduring, through windows
By the hands of God
For the glory of mankind.
Colours rain on weary shoulders
And unchain the spirit,
In pools of vain prayers dissolving.
With no walls,
No constraints, no expectations.
The art of the seasons,
Unframed by doctrine,
Life giving reds, glory skies,
And purple sunsets flowing,
In folds of nature’s creation,
Where time forgives and heals
What man struggles to understand.
Glass faces shatter and melt
Rigid no more,
Revealing moments of truth.
Green flows with life,
And the blues whisper and sigh,
On the breeze,
In stories that ripple across time,
The threads that weave a trembling horizon
Into a circle of belonging.
Reverent moments offering
A glimpse through windows
Past and future.
Hands release and fall
Free at last to give and receive.
Gold lines the heart instead
As earthly hues with feet commune
And invite knees and shoulders to rest.
Cream and orange delight with tenderness
Where pink and crimson caress the senses,
With love and the realization that
Is the gift you give yourself.
Reverence emerges from within
A Mother’s love – moments and magic
Music and vision – the gift of understanding.
The artist paints the journey of the soul
Unbound by walls or lines,
Sans martyrs or victims,
Only seasons, ebb and flow…
A cathedral transparent and alive
Like an open heart,
Inviting, the tithe to creation
Our very breath
The communion, inhaled,
Flowing ever inwards to reconnect
With the divine.
The poems above were inspired by some quiet time spent in a little local church, one of the oldest and most beautiful in the region, where the light flooded in through magnificent stained glass windows, telling stories of old and inspiring thoughts anew…… I could not help but compare the two churches in my life – one the traditional structured set of ideals that we are given from birth by those around us, and the other, an unlimited sacred space we discover in nature as we continue seeking along life’s journey….. two spaces where the colours and the truths emerge to annoint and liberate us …. it’s a personal choice which church resonates within us…..
Perhaps it is all about the windows and how we “see” through them….
They were the eyes of the church
Like windows to the soul
Staring flat and dark and lifeless
No light within at all.
There was no invitation
No promise, warmth or grace
Just blank, unblinking windows
On a stony ancient face.
But still I felt a longing
To search and know some more
I breathed in deeply, then gave a sigh
Opened the old church door.
I stepped into a different world
A whole new point of view
For the cascades of incoming light
Painted stories in every hue.
The windows that seem so empty
From the outside looking in
Held the most vibrant blaze of passion
That I had ever seen
This revelation of colour
When seen behind these eyes
Revealed a beauty that outsiders
Could never realize.
A rainbow wash illumines
This sacred alchemy
The light through stained glass windows
Awakens colours here in me.
I breathed in all the silence
Yet my heart could hear a choir
My spirit danced while my artist heart
Knew inspiration’s fire.
I felt those ancient secrets
Whispered in the solemn air
Shifting from witness to belonging
Between the there and here.
Looking out through other’s windows
Might seem difficult to do
But I felt the gifts as I embraced
Another’s inner unique view.
I stand outside the old stone church
And gaze back at those eyes
Somehow a light glimmers within
A secret knowing, calm and wise,
And though the windows appear the same
Something has changed for me
The more I look through other’s eyes
The more that I can see.